


No Light, No Light

by Seta_Kaita



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Bones is a psychopath, Dysfunctional Relationships, Jim isn't completely sane either, Killer!Bones, M/M, Non-Graphic Bloodplay, Non-Graphic Breathplay, Non-Graphic Violence, Smut, Unhealthy Dependency, mentions of Tarsus IV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-28
Updated: 2017-03-13
Packaged: 2018-09-27 11:10:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10017176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Seta_Kaita/pseuds/Seta_Kaita
Summary: Leonard McCoy is a sadistic, psychopathic killer. James T. Kirk loves him too much to do anything about it but protect him.They were made for each other.Beware of non-graphic murder, an unhealthy relationship and smut.





	1. I was Disappearing in Plain Sight

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to my wonderful beta, ArcticLucie, who does a fantastic job, even though I forgot to warn her about Bones' mental state.
> 
> This idea came to me when I started fantasising about the things Mirror-McCoy might do to Jim, if he were romantically interested in him. Then I found myself writing this.
> 
> The song to this fic is No Light, No Light by Florence + The Machine
> 
> One more warning: Bones does in fact kill people in this fic! Even if it's vague.

 

 

Jim couldn’t help it. It would define the rest of his life and sometimes split his head in half with a raging headache, but Jim Kirk just couldn’t resist the lure of Leonard McCoy.

 

\---***---

 

Through the crowds I was crying out and

In your place there were a thousand other faces

I was disappearing in plain sight

Heaven help me, I need to make it right

 

\---***---

 

When he met McCoy on the shuttle ride to his new future, the rough, gloomy charm of the strange man unwillingly sitting next to him immediately fascinated Jim to the point where he forgot what he had been about to say. His mouth running on autopilot he stared and stared and then stared some more.

The first night on campus, he lay awake in his shared dorm room, listening to the snores of his new roommate, trying to figure out what it was about the southern doctor that had him so entranced. He fell asleep long after midnight and dreamt of gigantic ants squashing the Enterprise and Leonard McCoy dressed as a ninja, firing a water-gun at the insects. The next morning, he was positive that something about the whole Starfleet business must have knocked him off balance and it wouldn’t happen again.

He firmly believed so until the moment he ran into McCoy in the queue for breakfast. Unsuspecting any drama at such an ungodly hour, Jim had grabbed a tray, when the man’s voice suddenly carried over to Jim. At first, Jim didn’t even register it, having heard it all night in his dreams and then echoing in his head all morning; he couldn’t get McCoy out of his head no matter how hard he tried. The only reason it didn’t drive Jim mad was that he believed he would never hear that voice again in real life and his infatuation would pass as soon as he introduced himself to the first group of hot cadets he met. It was a very nice voice, though, and it made a foreign sense of calm wash over Jim, gently wiping his mind until all Jim was aware of was the incredibly handsome doctor it belonged to.

But then Jim nearly walked into the cadet in front of him, who had stopped to crane his neck and get a better look at what was happening further down the line. So Jim did the same, standing on tip-toes as his brain finally pulled out of its trance long enough to discover that McCoy’s voice wasn’t only in his head after all. And there he was, giving the cafeteria staff a very fine rant about nutrition, throwing in a curse or two and threatening the annoyed woman behind the counter with a spoon he brandished like a dagger. The other cadets behind him warily kept their distance, eying McCoy like a madman. Even at the far end of the mess hall, people craned their necks to see what the commotion was about.

It took Jim a while to notice, his mind blessedly empty and light in a way he hadn’t experienced in a long time, solely focused on the doctor. But once he had shaken himself out of the initial trance, he found McCoy was still going at it like a champ, never minding his surroundings. If Jim had to guess, he would think the man was enjoying his rant thoroughly. And while Jim found that he could listen to that slight Georgian drawl and the effortlessly conjured poetic phrasing, for the sake of order at the breakfast table, he decided to step in.

He put his tray back where he had taken it from, marched up to McCoy’s side, draped an arm over the man’s shoulders, spun him around and dragged him off as if he did it every day. The half-hearted struggle McCoy put up and the rant now aimed at Jim did very little to discourage him, so he cheerfully proceeded to walk the resistive doctor right out the door with a beaming smile on his face. Only when they had stepped outside and McCoy had slapped Jim on the head with the tray still in his hand did Jim let go of him, but by then McCoy was fighting a smile of his own and his demeanor had turned from angry to fondly-annoyed.

From then on, it was James T. Kirk and Leonard McCoy against the world.

 

\---***---

 

They mutually decided to skip breakfast on their first day and slowly made their way to their first lecture together, getting to know each other as they wandered over the grounds, passing cadets and officers on their way. Jim learned the details of McCoy’s messy divorce and his academic background, that McCoy’s family was from Georgia and he had grown up in a small town just outside of Atlanta.

By noon, Jim had found out that McCoy preferred rugby over football, liked to spend whole days in the saddle of a horse and either didn’t recognize Jim’s name and vague information on his background or he simply didn’t care; which instantly put him right at the top of the list of Jim’s favorite people on the planet.

Splitting up over the course of the day, Jim met McCoy again in the mess hall for dinner. They talked about their respective days and McCoy enjoyed a little rant about stupid young cadets and their carelessness, which Jim listened to in no less of a trance than the first two times McCoy had vented his frustration. Weirdly enough, it felt therapeutic.

Before he left, McCoy wordlessly pushed his remaining slices of baked pumpkin onto Jim’s plate before wishing him a good night and leaving for his shift in the infirmary. How McCoy had noticed that Jim loved pumpkin, he wasn’t sure, but he adored the grumpy, secretly attentive doctor all the more for it.

 

\---***---

 

Things rarely were this idyllic after the first day.

“What have you done now?” McCoy sighed when he opened the door and took a look at Jim. Despite the annoyance plainly evident in the doctor’s voice, McCoy’s eyes took in Jim’s battered form with clear interest.

“Combat training.” Jim replied with a shrug, pushing past McCoy into his room.

“We had Basic Combat Training in the morning. I was there, you were unhurt.” McCoy retorted from where he had disappeared into the bathroom to fetch his medkit.

“Private combat training.” Jim revised, flopping down on the bed in the corner. As a senior medical student, McCoy had a single room with an en-suite bathroom for which Jim was ever so jealous. It was only fair that he got to sprawl all over the bigger bed when McCoy wasn’t sleeping in it, Jim figured.

“Okay, I’ve changed my mind. I don’t wanna know.” McCoy decided as he walked over to where Jim sat on the edge of the bed. “Strip.” Just like every time, Jim briefly wondered if McCoy would like to skip the patching-up and get Jim naked for very different purposes before he could chide his dirty mind and reluctantly did as he was told.

As a rule, Jim didn’t like doctors, but something about McCoy made him the exception. It couldn’t be the no-bullshit attitude, since pretty much every doctor Jim knew wore it. Maybe it was the fact that McCoy didn’t try to baby him, but worked efficiently regardless of whether he hurt his patient in the process or not. And compared to Jim’s experiences with other physicians, McCoy’s treatment did seem to hurt more, but it was also over much quicker.

“Sit still, will you?” McCoy hissed when Jim unconsciously leaned away from the rough fingers carelessly rubbing biting anti-septic over and into his wounds.

“Anyone ever told you you’re not very gentle?” Jim whined a little, just because he could.

“Maybe I’m doing it on purpose?” McCoy suggested and pointedly jabbed the tender skin he was cleaning up with his finger. Jim flinched and let a little yelp escape before he could shut his mouth. “Oops, sorry. Now I have to disinfect it again.”

“You know, some people would think you get off on this.”

“Well, some people would be right.” McCoy retorted in a tone Jim couldn’t identify. They were silent after that, but Jim paid closer attention to what McCoy was doing. When he was all patched up and his skin was healing under the influence of a regenerator, Jim had the sneaking suspicion that McCoy really did treat Jim as painfully as possible.

Maybe he shouldn’t test the man’s nerves so much, he mused.

 


	2. You want a Revelation, some kind of Resolution

 

You want a revelation, you wanna get right  
But, it's a conversation, I just can't have tonight  
You want a revelation, some kind of resolution  
You want a revelation

 

\---***---

 

Few people really liked Jim Kirk. The gross majority thought he was only in Starfleet because of his name. Some even went so far as to say he had slept his way into the academy. The fact that Jim liked to explore the intimate differences between species in a new bed every other day didn’t help his popularity with those who had misunderstood his intentions and falsely considered their tryst more than a one-night-stand. It didn’t take long for Jim to gain a reputation, which helped his social life in so far as only the promiscuous people hooked up with him after a while. But the damage was done and especially the female cadets stayed wary of him for a long time.

When Jim quickly became one of the best students in Starfleet, the jealousy of those left behind became another problem. It skyrocketed when his combat instructor made Jim his assistant instructor, because Jim was smart enough to dodge blows. Assistant combat instructor wasn’t nearly as prestigious as, say, assistant astrophysics instructor, but first years cadets never became assistants. And even though Jim tried to play his role down, a certain group of people found they’d finally had enough of him.

Jim didn’t see it coming. _Stupid_.

McCoy found him in the locker room long after dinner where Jim had lain unconscious for the better part of the afternoon. His face sticky with the blood that had now dried in a puddle by his face, Jim had remained where he was even after waking up for the simple reason that he couldn’t move beyond small shifts.

“What in God’s name…” McCoy’s shocked voice greeted Jim, just as he was about to slip his communicator out of his pocket, which had taken him half an hour with his broken wrist.

Jim didn’t dare answer. His throat felt a little sore, but worse than that, his head spun like crazy whenever he moved it the slightest bit.

McCoy’s feet came into view and then the doctor crouched in front of him, probably scanning him with his tricorder. A sharply sucked-in breath told Jim that things were, in fact, as bad as they felt. Really, if it hadn’t been nearly a dozen of them, Jim knew he could have taken the bastards on. He had fought back, dammit, but here he was now, battered and broken, and all he could think of was how to get back at every single one of them. He’d start by pissing in their shoes. Or maybe their beds? He wondered if the ceilings in their dorms were made out of metal or plaster and if he should nail their uniforms to it, too, while he was there to piss in their shoes.

A small voice in the back of his head – the rational, generally ignored part of him – told him to let it go, but most of him knew that if he didn’t retaliate, those guys would continue making his life hell. There was a certain, unspoken code between cadets that regulated feuds. It pretty much said anything was allowed just short of causing permanent damage. The feud only ended when one side publicly admitted defeat or when they mutually decided to lay the conflict to rest. But command track cadets didn’t back down, and Jim would fight tooth and nail. He had to win the upper hand here, for self-preservation if not for his pride. The only thing he couldn’t do was report it.

“We should report this.” McCoy’s voice interrupted his thoughts, accompanied by the sound of a communicator being flipped open. Of course, medical students were exempt from such conflicts.

“No!” Jim managed to choke out, the ensuing pain threatening to take his consciousness.

“Jim, I can’t fix all this in my room. You need to go to the infirmary and they’re gonna ask questions.” McCoy argued, his tone soothing like Jim had never heard it before.

“Favor?” Jim croaked again, this time in a quieter voice that didn’t quite take him out like his shout. McCoy sighed heavily above him.

“The things you make me do, kid…”

McCoy made a couple of comms and called in favors left and right to have Jim secretly taken to an examination room without paper work, four stern looking nurses carrying him while one chewed McCoy out for his recklessness.

“You’re gonna be fine, kid.” McCoy assured him just as he set a hypo against Jim’s neck. There was a gentle squeeze of Jim’s hand, and then darkness enveloped him.

 

\---***---

 

When he woke up, he felt groggy and sleepy, but there was a prominent absence of pain that told Jim he was still on pain medication. After all these years, Jim intimately knew this feeling.

The dimmed glow of the lights seemed almost too bright for Jim’s tired eyes that managed to stay open for a few seconds before blinking shut again and dragging Jim back under. Consciousness was a fickle thing that night. It came and went like the tide and every time Jim woke up, it left him feeling more exhausted than before. Finally, a strong hand on his arm dragged him out of his restless sleep.

“Good morning, sleeping beauty.” McCoy’s deep, honeyed drawl drew Jim’s attention. Taking a deep, steadying breath, Jim carefully reached up and rubbed his eyes before looking up to where McCoy was standing.

His hand froze halfway back to the mattress.

Had his voice not given him away, Jim wouldn’t have recognized McCoy. The overall physical features matched his friend, but Jim had never seen that look on his face. There was an amused smirk on his lips and his facial expression was relaxed, nearly content.

But the eyes were all wrong.

There was a coldness in them that Jim was unfamiliar with, a deep, bottomless pit of darkness sucking up all light around it, even though McCoy’s eyes were wide and showed too much white in an intense, piercing stare aimed at Jim that made him – for lack of a better word – look utterly crazy.

Jim opted for silence.

“You should be better in an hour or two. The regenerators are about done. I can take you to my room, then, keep an eye on you.” McCoy explained in his usual doctor’s voice, but the smile on his face was just this side of too wide. Jim gulped and said nothing. “I just came to check on you. Sleep some more.” McCoy then placed a warm hand on Jim’s forehead, his pinkie idly brushing errand strands of hair away.

It was like a magic touch, lulling him to sleep and his mind went without a fight.

 

\---***---

 

Next time he woke up, Jim found himself in McCoy’s bed with the covers tucked around him and the heavy weight of another body dipping the mattress next to where he lay. He didn’t need to look up to know who was in bed with him.

“What happened?” He forced out past his dry throat at the third attempt as a glass of water moved in front of his face, dangling from long, strong fingers.

“You tell me.” McCoy countered in a voice that was decidedly neutral.

“I mean after. Don’t even try to tell me you didn’t pull the security footage.” That was met with silence on McCoy’s part, and Jim used the time to slowly drink his water.

“Alright, I won’t lie to you then. What do you think happened?”

“I think you patched me up and paid some people a little visit.” Jim mused, finally meeting McCoy’s eyes. The look of dark satisfaction still lingered in the corners of his eyes and the tiny smirk on McCoy’s lips made him seem all too pleased with himself.

“You told me not to report them. I didn’t. But I sure as hell didn’t let them get away with it.” He admitted, teeth briefly flashing in a grin.

“Thanks. But I can take care of my own business.”

“I know you can. But this is my business, too. I won’t let anyone harm you, Jim. Not while I’m still around.”

It seemed oddly chivalrous at the time, like McCoy fancied himself a knight in shining armor, so Jim just snorted and let it go. McCoy, it seemed, was of the loyal type. If it had been the other way around, Jim figured he might have done the same.

When he attended his first lecture the next morning, stopping his chat with McCoy in order to pay attention to the instructor who had just walked in, his view on the matter changed rapidly.

“Cadets. A serious matter was brought to our attention yesterday. Reportedly, during the night of Wednesday to Thursday, eleven of our first year cadets have disappeared. They left without note and their friends have officially reported them missing as of this morning. Starfleet will send all cadets and Starfleet personnel their details and are collaborating with the local police in search of the cadets. Please notify the staff if you have any information regarding their whereabouts.”

A general murmur arose among the cadets around them, like a hum of static, hushed voices and fleeting whispers fluttering throughout the lecture hall. Only two people remained completely silent. Possibly the only two people who had any idea what this was all about. Jim didn’t dare turn his head and look at McCoy, but he could just see the tiny, self-satisfied smile out of the corner of his eyes.

“What did you do?” He asked in a whisper that was barely loud enough to carry over to McCoy, nearly buried under the commotion around them.

McCoy’s smile stretched a little wider.

Eleven missing cadets were never found.

 

\---***---

 

The severity of the situation didn’t hit Jim until his lunch break. Throughout his lectures, Jim had felt a foreign sense of warmth in his gut that intensified whenever the thought of McCoy defending Jim’s honor entered his mind.

It wasn’t until Jim sat down his tray and noticed a few cadets making their rounds in the mess hall that it sunk in: eleven cadets were gone without a trace and missed by their friends. He pushed around the green goop on his plate that the cafeteria had cheerfully dubbed “veggie special”, which looked like it had been through some animal’s digestive system before, and realized he had no idea what McCoy had done to them. Going by the nasty little smile on his face it hadn’t been anything resembling nice.

He debated with himself whether he should at least let the cadets and the brass know that he had seen the guys before they went missing, but he realized that meant he would have to report what had happened to him and incriminate McCoy. And he wasn’t prepared to do either.

No, what he would do was give McCoy a chance to explain himself and then decide what to do with that information. So after classes, he purposefully marched over to McCoy’s dorm and knocked on his door in what he hoped passed as a decided manner – only to find that McCoy wasn’t in his room. He had hacked into the database long ago and knew McCoy’s schedule by heart, so he knew the doctor wasn’t on duty tonight. Maybe someone had called him in to cover a shift for a colleague?

He walked to the infirmary and snuck in past the front desk when the receptionist was distracted. It took him a while to covertly check out every treatment room apart from the actual ORs and avoid notice from the medical team, but he wasn’t at the top of his tactical classes for nothing. Still, he was rather surprised when he couldn’t find him anywhere he had thought McCoy would be. In the end, he asked a nurse and was informed that McCoy had been called to an emergency surgery before being promptly escorted out of the building.

So he would give McCoy until the next day.

But then, when the instructor walked in the next morning, and McCoy still hadn’t shown his face in the lecture hall, Jim’s plans were deferred as they were told that security had searched the missing cadets’ rooms and found that before leaving Starfleet premises, each of them had apparently packed a bag with a few items that their friends confirmed were important to them. Starfleet and the police were now considering the possibility that those eleven cadets had left on their own volition.

The heavy sigh of relief that left Jim’s mouth surprised him a little. It seemed that this whole business had worried Jim more than he had let himself feel.

That night, McCoy was in his quarters and opened the door to let Jim in, looking like he hadn’t slept all night and claiming he had been in surgery for twenty hours. Jim nodded his understanding while he raided McCoy’s secret stash of nibbles, ignoring the grumbling about thieving friends he received.

“So how did you do it? I mean, I know you can be scary, but how do you convince eleven big, brawny cadets to just pack their bags and leave?” Jim eventually inquired around a mouth full of peanuts, curiosity getting the better of him. McCoy looked up from his PADD, giving Jim a strange look.

“Let’s just say I can be very persuasive.” He said evadingly, but Jim wouldn’t have any of that.

“C’mon, tell me! I’ve been dying to find out. I think it’s pretty badass to be honest.” Jim grinned at his friend, popping some more food in his mouth.

“Jim.” McCoy said in a serious tone and, knocked a little off trail by the change in mood, Jim lifted his head from McCoy’s pillow and looked him in the eye. “Let’s just say the less you know about the things I do, the better for both of us.”

Strained, heavy silence followed that statement as Jim realized McCoy was dead-serious.

“All you need to know is that I made them go away and they won’t bother you again. It wasn’t nice, but I would do it again any time if someone were to harm you.” McCoy elaborated, crossing his arms over his chest. There was a fierce kind of possessiveness in McCoy’s voice that Jim had never heard before in relation to himself and confused the hell out of him for the warm, fuzzy feeling it evoked in his stomach. If Jim hadn’t known better, he would have thought he liked McCoy’s possessiveness of him.

“Okay.” Jim finally managed, not quite knowing what he was agreeing to, but it seemed to convey his inner turmoil well enough that McCoy cracked a smile and went back to reading his PADD.

The feeling in his stomach seemed annoyingly like desire when he thought about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone reading this and double-thanks to those who commented. You guys made me so happy!


	3. Would You Leave Me, if I told You What I’ve Done?

 

Would you leave me if I told you what I've done?  
And would you leave me if I told you what I've become?  
Because it's so easy to sing it to a crowd  
But it's so hard, my love, to say it to you out loud

 

\---***---

 

The day it really hit Jim was in late October, during a cold night spent finding reason at the bottom of a whiskey glass. McCoy was indisposed at the infirmary and none of Jim’s usual few drinking buddies had tagged along. It had been a couple of weeks since the business Jim had internally declared as “McCoy and the eleven cadets”, and the weeks crawled by at a glacial pace, filled only with homework, assignments and studying (when Jim could be bothered). The routine was starting to wear Jim out.

So that night found him drinking alone at a bar just off campus, absently toying with the rim of his glass while imagining what McCoy would rant about, if he had been there with Jim. The man seemed to be a bottomless well of sarcastic remarks and annoyance ranging from mildly disturbed to outright exasperation. Most of the irritation sent Jim’s way was expressed in a covertly fond manner, often given with the patented McCoy Eye-Roll, and Jim loved it; especially the smile McCoy tended to hide behind a disgruntled, firm set of his mouth but that Jim still managed to catch, like McCoy couldn’t keep it from him.

The doctor was a rather secretive man who hid his true nature behind floods of words with no deeper meaning, whose only purpose was to deflect. What really lay buried beneath the surface remained unseen and Jim was oh so curious about it. But no matter how decidedly Jim dug, McCoy blocked his advances as much as anyone’s – or nearly so. Jim had learned a few honest things about McCoy, and the man seemed much more inclined to share them with him in private, but those tiny glimpses only served to prove that there was a whole world buried deep. And Jim was dying to explore the unchartered territory.

From day one, Jim had been utterly imprinted on McCoy. Even after all this time, he couldn’t quite grasp what it was about the grumpy man that had him so hooked, but most of the time, McCoy was on his mind in some way or another. He found himself imagining McCoy’s voice giving him lectures when he was being reckless, wondered what McCoy would have to say about the food Jim was eating when the doctor wasn’t around, did his best to appease his occasional genuinely foul moods and caught himself more than once trying to please McCoy.

He snorted to himself when he noticed that he had unconsciously been humming “Georgia On My Mind” under his breath. He had never been to the state, but McCoy would talk about it so longingly that it made Jim want to go there, favorably in the doctor’s company. Really, his life revolved mostly around McCoy these days.

His head snapped up when he was hit by the sudden revelation that he was completely infatuated with his friend. That there was absolutely nothing about him that Jim didn’t find adorable or funny, that even jabs that made his blood boil made his heart ache at the same time, that his overt possessiveness filled Jim with warmth, that he found him incredibly attractive and missed him already after just a few hours of separation… that nothing Jim did these days was done without even a fleeting thought to McCoy.

Oh well, he figured, he could have picked a worse candidate.

He drank to that.

 

\---***---

 

They were an unlikely pair, McCoy the brooding, permanently annoyed, ever-ranting type and Jim the careless, happy, bubbly friend at his side.

Jim was inherently good, even when he tried to hide the fact.

McCoy simply wasn’t.

The instructors considered Jim a loose cannon; he was infamous for his pranks and many cadets could tell stories about being cold-heartedly dropped after a night of mutual fun. Jim never stayed; something was always driving him forward and therefore away from what he had. Everyone who didn’t like Jim constantly watched out for and avoided him.

What they didn’t know was that sometime during the first semester, Jim had started shielding McCoy with his behavior. Because – let’s face it – he was hopelessly attracted to the man, despite what he suspected lay dormant in his heart. Initially, Jim had thought McCoy just liked to rant and curse, until that one fateful day when Jim felt that he was standing at the greatest crossroads in his life and that the outcome would define his life forever.

He had been in the habit of dropping in on McCoy’s nightshifts ever since that night when eleven cadets had landed him in the infirmary, annoying his friend and flirting with the nurses. That day, the wing was dead at 0200 and Jim had to poke his head into every examination room to try and find McCoy, glad that no one was around to yell at him for threatening confidentiality. He eventually found McCoy in a room at the end of the corridor.

The doctor was standing over an unconscious figure on a biobed, looking at the critical vitals displayed on the monitor. He was so deep in thought that he hadn’t noticed Jim sneaking in and up to him. Right before Jim jumped McCoy from behind, snaking his arms around the man’s neck and resting his chin on his shoulder, Jim noticed the small, dark smirk on his friend’s face.

In general, McCoy seemed to like physical contact with Jim when they were in private; even more so when Jim surprised him with it or even forced it on him, Jim had discovered. This time, McCoy jumped a little in surprise, then turned his head to glare at Jim.

Taken aback, Jim loosened his embrace a little. The vital signs on the monitor were the only source of light in the dark room and the harsh brightness painted deep shadows on McCoy’s face, underlining the glare. Jim took a moment to catch his breath and try to force his brain back into working order since it seemed to have shut down and left him to fend for himself in the face of the unexpected situation Jim had walked into; not that he could tell what exactly the situation was.

“What are you doing here, Jim?” McCoy demanded in a dangerously low voice that made Jim’s stomach clench painfully in a sudden, unexpected rush of _want_.

“Wanted to see you.” Jim breathed in reply, his mind stuck in a sphere where McCoy used that voice on him in very different circumstances.

“Well, you’re _seeing_ me now.” McCoy retorted and somehow Jim had the indistinct feeling they were no longer talking about the visit. He blinked in ignorance for the last time and the world shifted before his eyes when he opened them again: that hidden darkness that Jim had mistaken for grumpiness was laid bare for Jim to marvel at. McCoy was letting Jim _see_ him, all of him, everything that hid beneath the surface and Jim felt utterly naked in return.

When Jim didn’t make a move to release his grip on McCoy or run from what he saw in his friend, McCoy turned his head back to consider his patient.

“What are you doing?” Jim whispered, laying his chin back on McCoy’s shoulder.

“Deciding on what to do with him.” A weight settled against Jim’s hip at that, a hand drawing him closer. Jim closed his eyes for a moment, reveling in the warmth of his friend.

“What’s wrong with him?” Jim asked, glancing at the vital signs again. They told him very little apart from the erratic heartbeat.

“He’s gonna die if I let him.” The wording ultimately tipped Jim off about the true nature of Leonard McCoy. Not “He’s gonna die if I don’t do anything”; McCoy was talking about _letting_ someone die.

“Does he want to die?” Jim inquired, tensing as the calm spell broke, realizing that maybe there was much more wrong with his friend than he had initially thought.

“I don’t think so.” And there it returned, the smirk on McCoy’s face, the inhuman amusement at the prospect of watching a man die and doing nothing about it that Jim had never been able to grasp and never would. If it had been any other man saying it, Jim would have knocked them out and called for help in an instant. But it was Leonard McCoy, Jim’s unlikely best friend, standing calmly in Jim’s arms and contemplating a man’s life.

“You wanna kill him.” Jim choked out past a tight throat, not a question but a statement.

“Yes.” McCoy answered amiably, tipping his head a little to the side to rest against Jim’s.

“Why?” Jim tightened his arms around McCoy, unable to let the man go.

“Because I can.” It was spoken right against Jim’s ear, that little smirk audible in every word. “Because I want to.”

Burying his face in McCoy’s shoulder, Jim remained silent, understanding now that McCoy always knew exactly what he was doing. Recognizing that there was nothing James T. Kirk would ever do to stop Leonard McCoy. Realizing that the man in the bed before him would die because Jim would let McCoy kill him.

McCoy didn’t move from his position with his lips still against Jim’s ear for what felt like hours while they stood next to the biobed, watching the vitals drop gradually.

“Don’t worry, Jim, we won’t be in trouble. No one here knows the cure to this but me. And they don’t know that I do.” McCoy promised Jim eventually, gently lifting Jim’s face to place a chaste kiss on his lips.

 

\---***---

 

Jim had stayed at the infirmary for a few hours after the patient’s death, having McCoy fuss about Jim’s bad psych stats when really he was to blame for them. McCoy had scanned and examined Jim until eventually a nurse had discovered the dead patient and McCoy had had a plausible excuse for not officially noticing it earlier with the alarms on mute, for it had only been a matter of time. The biobed had noted the time of death and protocol had been upheld, so apart from a chastising look from the head-nurse, McCoy got away with murder – literally.

“I was treating Jim in examination room 5.” McCoy had claimed and the nurses had smiled knowingly, probably thinking something naughty. Jim didn’t care. He’d felt like hell, and McCoy had promptly sent him to bed. About to turn around and escape the horrors of the night, he had been stopped by McCoy’s hand on Jim’s arm. McCoy had then leaned in secretively and told him the code to his room in a low tone just loud enough to carry to the nurses. Jim had ignored the giggles, understanding that this was part of the alibi McCoy was building. He had left without another word.

What had possessed him to follow McCoy’s suggestion and crash in his bed instead of his own, Jim couldn’t tell. But before he knew it, he found himself tugging the covers of McCoy’s queen-sized bed around himself and then he was out like a light.

He slept fitfully, dreams of Tarsus IV disturbing his rest and making him jolt awake again and again, trying to run from Kodos’ men or watching people get executed. The same despair and helplessness followed him from dream to dream and finally into consciousness where he realized that he had been feeling this way ever since McCoy had made his intentions clear.

When he opened his eyes, he found himself staring into another, a hazel-green pair. Surprise made him flinch violently, and some part of his mind screamed at him to run from this monster, while another purred at the thought of having McCoy in bed with him.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.” McCoy apologized with a small smile, his low voice like balm on Jim’s wounded heart. The crazy look was gone from McCoy’s face and had left in its wake a happy contentment that seemed misplaced on the usually grumpy face. It made McCoy look ten years younger and Jim’s fingers itch to touch him. The screaming part of Jim’s mind was quickly shut down, leaving the part of Jim in charge that was hopelessly infatuated with the doctor.

“You still look troubled.” McCoy remarked, reaching out to run a soothing hand through Jim’s hair. “Don’t worry, you’ll come around.”

They stayed like that for a while, McCoy running his hand over every part of Jim’s body that he could reach, travelling progressively lower while Jim lay there and watched him do it. Mere inches from his ass, Jim intercepted McCoy’s hand and blurted out: “I don’t think I can be what you want me to be.” McCoy blinked once, taken a little aback, but didn’t miss a beat.

“What do you think I want you to be?”

“I dunno… Your killer-buddy perhaps? I can’t do that, Bones, I can’t kill people just like that and I don’t want to. Hell, I don’t even know why I _should_ want to. I’m not… like that. I’m not Kodos. I don’t randomly decide that people die when I want them gone. I don’t- I’m not-“ Jim’s voice gave out, dying with a gutted sound in his throat while he felt hot tears trails down his cheeks, his whole body shaking in a mix of fear and anguish at the memories, scared also of what McCoy might do to him, if Jim didn’t prove worthy to keep.

But McCoy was nothing like Kodos and deep down Jim knew that. Still, the gentle arms around Jim surprised him a little, along with the soothing words mumbled into Jim’s hair as McCoy pulled him close.

“I’m not Kodos, Jim. And while I’m not completely sure what it is you’re thinking, let me tell you that I don’t expect anything from you but that you will keep my secret. I’m not looking for an accomplice or another killer to share a murder with. I would have been perfectly content to shield you from what’s inside me, but you came and found me by yourself. All I want, Jim, is _you_.”

Jim nodded a little to show he had heard McCoy, but remained silent for a long time. The chronometer on the wall showed a little after five in the morning and Jim was glad for a moment that it was Saturday. He had two more days to get a grip on himself. Then he would have to face a world that had completely changed overnight.

Eventually, he found his voice again and opened his mouth to talk. He told McCoy things he had repressed for years about Tarsus IV, about the famine and Kodos the Executioner, about his trauma and the lasting guilt of standing by and not doing a thing to help those sentenced to death. Rationally, he knew he couldn’t have helped them, but survivor’s guilt tended to distort reality when Jim let it, when he was too emotionally wrung out to fight the feeling.

McCoy remained silent throughout, the hands caressing Jim the only sign that he was still awake and attentive. When Jim ran out of words to say, they let the silence speak for them. It was almost comfortable.

“I’m not Kodos, Jim. I don’t kill because I trick myself into thinking it’s the right thing to do. I don’t kill because I think I must. I kill because I enjoy it.” McCoy finally said, tipping Jim’s chin up so he could look him in the eye. For the first time that night, McCoy looked like his usual self again, no craziness or overly sweet smiles. Just plain honesty. “You see, Kodos was delusional. He was either insane long before the whole business went south or he went insane because of it. I’m not insane, Jim. I’m perfectly aware of my actions and their consequences. That makes me a psychopath, but it also makes me rational and unless you betray me horribly, I won’t hurt you. And whatever you decide will happen between me and you, I will accept it.”

“Psychopath’s are manipulative, Bones.” Jim argued, just for the sake of knocking McCoy down from his high horse. And because, well, he was Jim. He loved to argue.

“Well, I never promised not to manipulate you, did I?” McCoy grinned a little smugly and Jim found he didn’t care.

He let McCoy roll them over, then, drape Jim on top of him and pull him down into a kiss long overdue, taking Jim apart with his clever hands and mouth and making sure Jim knew what he would miss, if he were to leave McCoy after this.

Jim didn’t leave.

 

\---***---

 

Jim had been kissed a lot in his days, mostly in passion, rarely a chaste exchange of affection. McCoy’s mouth was hot against Jim’s, fierce and demanding, like there was nothing else on earth he craved more than this sensual touch between them. But something about the kiss was so very different from what Jim usually associated with passion that he nearly failed to recognize the sentiment. Even more so than passionate, it was utterly possessive. McCoy kissed with lips and tongue and _teeth_ , more biting and sucking at Jim’s mouth than pressing their lips together and it made Jim rock hard in no time at all, aided by the primal grunts and groans in his ears.

What started out as Jim lying on top of McCoy in a position that would, under normal circumstances, allow him to control the pace, soon morphed into McCoy roughly running his hands all over Jim and pulling him down to firmly grind their bodies together, before he flipped them over with an impatient growl, pinning Jim to the mattress by his shoulders while he latched onto his neck to trail biting kisses down to Jim’s collarbones. A throaty moan slipped past Jim’s slack lips at a particularly vicious bite to his shoulder. McCoy answered with a pleased noise and repeated the move, at the same time slipping a hand around Jim’s back and pulling him more firmly up against the body on top of him. When that hand found its way to Jim’s ass and squeezed hard, he gave up all pretense about trying to take back the reigns. Letting his mind go blank, he lay back and let McCoy do as he pleased.

Ten minutes later found Jim face-down with his head shoved roughly into the pillow, barely managing to breathe around it while pushing his hips up to give McCoy better access to his cock. McCoy had his hand between Jim’s spread legs, rubbing it back and forth from between Jim’s ass cheeks, over his perineum and balls to Jim’s cock, which he gave a measured stroke before travelling back to Jim’s ass at a leisurely pace, repeating the move over and over again. His mouth was busy with wet kisses all over Jim’s back, neck and sides. Every once in a while, he would push just the very tip of a finger into Jim’s hole, leaving him desperately wanting more and never getting it.

“Please, Bones.” He tried asking for it, but was carelessly ignored. Only a pleased hum gave any indication that he had been heard at all. Instead, McCoy pushed Jim’s head even deeper into the pillow, cutting off his respiration altogether while he continued his ministrations for another eternity or two. Jim grit his teeth, grinding them on the cloth of the pillow, trying to vent his mounting frustration and failing miserably. Rising steadily with his frustration was the lack of oxygen in his lungs, the sound of his blood rushing in his ears getting louder and his heart beating harder and faster with the adrenaline rush.

Then, all of a sudden, while Jim was still fighting his body’s natural response to oxygen-deprivation, McCoy’s weight and touch were completely gone. Jim’s head shot up and he gulped in a few direly needed breaths as he looked around for McCoy, finding him rummaging through a drawer in his desk, looking like the perfect image of calm.

“Damn, you’re a fucking tease, Bones.” Jim complained breathlessly, laughing a little at the answering hum. As the rummaging continued, Jim rolled over onto his side to watch McCoy’s now-naked form bent over the desk drawer. “Do you bottom? Cause that ass looks really nice from here.”

“Not tonight.” McCoy growled over his shoulder, fixing Jim with a predatory gaze as his hand emerged from the drawer with a vial that Jim didn’t need to ask the contents of. He caught McCoy’s eye and slowly licked his lips, signaling his complete consent of what lay in wait for him. McCoy’s gaze dropped his Jim’s lips and followed the movement of Jim’s tongue, a small growl escaping his lips before he crossed the room in two determined strides and pounced.

Back in bed with him, McCoy stole another long kiss before he pushed Jim’s head back into the pillow, this time crawling down the length of his body to lick a stripe all the way from between Jim’s shoulder blades to his balls, then up again to tease his hole.

“When was the last time you had a proper rimming?” McCoy wondered aloud, his voice muffled between Jim’s cheeks, but he didn’t wait for an answer before he unceremoniously forced his thumbs into the hole and spread it, shoving the tip of his tongue inside.

The startled moan that tore from Jim’s lips was both wanton and pained. The last time Jim had had anyone or anything in his ass had been months ago and his hole was nowhere near used to the slight abuse, but he let McCoy do as he pleased, ignoring the burn as best he could. The sting was a small price to pay for the glorious wet heat and smooth slide of McCoy’s tongue, the physical stimulation of the sensitive area and the psychology involved in the rimjob. The thumbs soon released their grip on Jim’s inner muscles, only to be replaced by two slick fingers while the other hand rubbed circles over his perineum.

Gasping and moaning, sheets in a tight grip again, Jim imagined what McCoy must look like in that moment, with his face buried between Jim’s ass cheeks, licking and sucking at his hole like Jim was the sweetest thing he had ever tasted. The lube-slick fingers slid deeper into him, nudging his prostate while McCoy’s mouth travelled further south, finding his balls and sucking on them. His clever fingers found Jim’s cock and pulled it back between his legs so could swallow as much of it as he could physically manage. Jim dropped his head onto the pillow again and fully gave himself over to pleasure.

With McCoy’s fingers buried to the knuckles in his ass, massaging his prostate and his cock throat-deep in McCoy’s mouth, Jim came with a drawn-out moan echoing in the silent room.

The orgasm left him floating at unparalleled heights.

“I’m not nearly done with you.” McCoy’s voice eventually brought him out of his bliss, dragging him from great heights back down to McCoy’s burning passion. When he cracked his heavy eyelids open, he was met with a fiery gaze. “Go clean up, take a quick shower and come back to bed.” McCoy ordered, before almost lovingly kicking Jim out of bed.

Neither of them slept for another couple of hours afterwards, racing the sunrise with a climb in passion, greeting the new day with desperate cries of pleasure. Jim couldn’t remember ever having screamed “Harder. Faster. _Fuck_ yes!” so many times in one night – morning. Or coming when someone bit his shoulder hard enough to draw blood. Or even finding bloody kisses afterwards as sexy as he found them with McCoy. He also couldn’t recall the last time someone had scratched his back open to the point where they left bloodstained fingerprints all over his skin. But with McCoy, he loved every moment of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to everyone reading this! And everyone who commented, you guys are the light of my life! You've been fantastic to me.
> 
> More gratitude to my beta reader ArcticLucie, who still puts up with all my typos and punctuation.
> 
> And finally, if you liked the smut, thank Hinawari for it, cause she suggested I write it ;)


	4. You are the Night Time Fear, You are the Morning when it’s Clear

You are the hole in my head, you are the space in my bed  
You are the silence in between what I thought and what I said  
You are the night time fear, you are the morning when it's clear  
When it's over you're the start, you're my head, you're my heart

 

\---***---

 

If Jim really had wanted to, he could have stopped McCoy and they both knew it. Their relationship changed drastically after that night, but both got more than enough out of it. Somehow, it felt therapeutic in many unexpected ways.

Sometimes, Jim would catch McCoy in an unnaturally good mood in the morning, a mood he only showed Jim with that smirk and feral darkness in his eyes as he climbed into Jim’s bed. Jim never put up much resistance when McCoy wanted to follow his mental high up with a physical one.

Sometimes, McCoy would flop down on his – most of the time their – bed after class and tell him his darkest thoughts and secrets, visibly basking in Jim’s bad conscience.

Sometimes Jim would tell McCoy in detail about Tarsus, because talking to McCoy felt good. Those times, McCoy would soak up every word with rapt attention, probably getting very bad ideas, but Jim couldn’t help it. When Jim lay suffering in his own memories, McCoy would be gentlest with him. He would take him in his arms and soothe him before he lapsed into a lengthy rant about all the things he would have liked to do to Kodos, if the man hadn’t died on Tarsus. And Jim found a sick kind of comfort in listening to McCoy’s revenge fantasies.

McCoy never hurt him, unless he asked for it. Some nights, Jim would knock on McCoy’s door, his face bloody and his knuckles busted and he would beg McCoy to make it hurt more, to help him punish himself for his sins, for going along with McCoy’s crimes and not telling a soul.

Other nights, McCoy would come to him without a story to tell or ask, without physical hurts demanding his attention and he would just take Jim to bed and smile at him like a normal person. Those nights, Jim let his own demons take over. McCoy never stopped smiling at him while he broke his knuckles on McCoy’s face, while he choked him until he passed out.

Jim soon became very experienced in first-aid and beyond. He also got assigned a new dorm room early on in their dysfunctional relationship after one drunken night where he had fucked McCoy into the mattress with his hands around the other man’s throat and Jim’s roommate had turned over in his bed to tell them to fuck quietly. Needless to say he had seen what Jim was doing and called security. Explaining this to the brass had certainly been one hell of a hassle, but McCoy had been completely calm and pragmatic about it, all the while hiding the smirk that never failed to make Jim’s knees weak.

And throughout the years, McCoy never stopped hurting people. He had perfected his methods long ago, getting over dry-spells by being grumpy and rough with his patients, but still managing to be the best doctor on campus. When someone came in with a broken arm, McCoy would take perverse pleasure in setting it as painfully as possible without looking like he was hurting the patient more than necessary. When he managed to kill someone, he would be in high spirits for weeks, going on and on about it until Jim grew tired of hearing about it and would punch McCoy in the face and tell him to shut up. That usually resulted in a night of violent sex with bloodshed on both sides.

“Imagine what it’ll be like when we’re visiting new planets, Jim!” McCoy would sometimes say, excited at the prospect.

“If you can manage not to throw up on me once we leave orbit.” Jim would jab, secretly loving his partner’s enthusiasm.

“Just think about it”, McCoy would go on like he always did, ignoring Jim, “all that disease and danger…”

“… wrapped in darkness and silence, yeah, I know.” Jim would sigh with an eye-roll he had adapted from McCoy. Darkness and silence had never been more attractive to him.

 

\---***---

 

Jim had struggled with McCoy’s demons until halfway into their second year. Guilt had sunk its claws deep into Jim’s heart, nourished by McCoy taking perverse pleasure in Jim’s conscience. And they had both been waiting for Jim to break.

A few weeks before winter break, Jim walked into their room without a word, looking like the world rested on his shoulders, and flopped face first onto the bed.

“What’s up with you?” Came McCoy’s voice from where he sat at the desk, writing something that looked suspiciously like homework, the nerd – Jim never bothered until half an hour before class when he would casually dictate it to his PADD or just hand in an audio file.

“My mom called, she wants me to come to Iowa for Christmas.” Jim groaned, his voice muffled by the pillow. In the short silence that followed, Jim could practically hear McCoy raise an eyebrow.

“Good God. Well, have fun with the family.” He snorted, tone colored in malicious glee. Jim rolled his head to the side to glare at McCoy’s back.

“She wants me to bring you.” He lied, watching the stiffening in McCoy’s back with satisfaction.

“Well, too bad for her, I don’t do family gatherings. I tend to lean on the homicidal side when relatives annoy me.” McCoy countered smoothly, letting the threat hang in the air like he actually thought it would put Jim off.

“Are you really gonna say no to Admiral Kirk?” Jim pointed out, his tone all sweet innocence. McCoy’s shoulders stiffened further. Jim knew the exact moment when he’d won by the small twitch in the doctor’s hand.

“Goddammit, kid!”

And thus Christmas time found the pair parking their rental car in the messy space that was Frank’s front yard.

“Okay”, Jim said as he turned off the car, “remember to be nice to Sam, I haven’t seen him in years. That is, if he actually shows up. I wouldn’t, if I were him. Hell, I don’t even know why I’m here now. I mean-“ A hand on his knee interrupted his babbling and Jim took a deep, calming breath. “Anyway, my mom might be a little weird, I don’t know. I don’t care about Frank, though. I wouldn’t mind if you killed him.” McCoy’s hand gripped a little harder, betraying his interest in the turn of the conversation.

“Really?” He purred, leaning over the center console to make flirty eyes at Jim, like that would get him anywhere – besides to bed, of course. Jim didn’t answer, just stared out of the windshield. He’d said it like you say things like that, without meaning it and without conscious thought. But now he wasn’t so sure what his honest answer would be. So he gave none and climbed out of the car instead.

They knocked on the door for a solid five minutes before it was yanked open with an annoyed “What?” spat in their face. They blinked at a face that looked a little out of place, too young to be one of the expected guests. The girl looked to be around eight, her hair in braids with little pink ribbons, chewing gum like a petulant teenager.

“Er, hi. I’m Jim.” He tried, putting on a smile and catching McCoy doing the same out of the corner of his eyes.

“ _Good on you_. And I care because?” She snapped back and Jim could feel the smile drop to become a grimace.

“I’m here for Christmas? Hello, Jim Kirk, Winona Kirk’s son?” He gestured at himself like it would help explaining the obvious to the child. She considered him for a moment, taking him in from head to toe, glancing in McCoy’s direction, before turning around and yelling into the house:

“There’s a Jim Kirk at the door. Do I let him in?” An incredulous laugh escaped Jim’s lips and he shared a stupefied look with McCoy, relishing in the classic You-gotta-be-kidding-me eyebrow.

“Of course, dumbass.” Came the answer from deep within, followed by, “Not that I care, but Winona does.”

“Yep”, Jim nodded for McCoy’s benefit, “that’s Frank.”

The family had gathered in the den and there were quite a few more than Jim had expected or even ever met. As it turned out, Sam had married and bred during the years he had disappeared from radar. How Winona had managed to talk not only Jim, but also Sam into showing up, Jim would never know.

So Jim plowed through an awkward introduction to Sam’s wife, Aurelan, as well as his daughters Irene and Isabelle. The girls sat in a corner watching holovids on PADDs and ignored the party, likewise being ignored by the adults. One big fucking happy family, Jim thought darkly. The negligence of one generation passed on to the next.

And boy, was Sam insufferable. Apparently, Winona had been in contact with Sam for years and financed his college degree in xenobiology and chemistry, paving the way for him to become a pharmaceutical researcher. His wife was as stupid as she was blond, paying more attention to the way her hair sat than the conversation around her, showing the very best example of boredly chewing gum that Jim had ever had the misfortune of observing.

“So, Leonard, you’re in Starfleet, too? What’s your focus?” Winona eventually directed the conversation away from Sam giving a lecture on why mixing species should be forbidden by law and that, in his humble opinion, it was the root of all the dangerous cross-species diseases today.

“I kill people for a living.” McCoy grumbled, barely loud enough to be heard past Jim.

“He’s a doctor.” Jim amended, silently amused by his partner’s grumpy reply and overt threat.

“Oh, great. Finally someone who understands what I’m even talking about. The rest of the world certainly won’t!” Sam exclaimed and dove head-first into another lecture. Jim folded his hands in his lap and examined the ceiling, wishing it would cave in and crush them all, just so he would be spared Sam’s racism.

Jim seized the first opportunity he got to excuse him and McCoy, claiming they needed an early night after the long drive.

“Can I kill Sam?” McCoy groaned as he hit the mattress next to Jim. His voice was annoyed, but his eyes were earnest.

“What? No! Sam’s just the product of Frank’s education. All the more reason why I want to see Frank dead.”

“D’you mean that? All you gotta do is say the word and consider it done. I might even let you watch, if you want.” The last part was spoken right against Jim’s ear, a dark promise and a powerful seduction.

“I think right now I’d like to watch you fuck yourself on my cock.” Jim drawled, stretching out even more next to McCoy, making sure all his assets were properly on display.

“I knew there was a reason why I stick with you.” McCoy purred and swung a leg over Jim’s waist to straddle him and do as he was asked. They didn’t bother keeping quiet, though Jim did draw a line at physically hurting each other during sex – or at all, actually – in this house he had grown up in. He had seen enough violence here.

Christmas morning found Jim alone in the kitchen with Winona, talking quietly and catching up on things they never said during their rare phone calls and it felt almost nice being here, until the moment Sam’s girls woke up and ruined the peaceful atmosphere.

Needless to say the day was a disaster of epic proportions. By the time desert was served at dinner time, Sam and Frank had had four shouting matches, one of the girls – Jim hadn’t bothered telling them apart – had badly burned her hand on the casserole dish and refused to let McCoy heal her for half an hour filled with yelling and tears, Winona had gotten a call from Starfleet dragging her away from lunch and Jim had done his very best to calm McCoy’s boiling mood several dozen times.

In the end, not even the promise of hot, bloody sex back at the Academy was enough to pacify McCoy. When they were woken by Frank’s drunken slurs in the small hours of Boxing Day, followed by Winona’s angry, tear-filled yells, McCoy rolled over and looked Jim dead in the eye.

“I won’t let this go on, Jim.” He stated and Jim knew the time for playing nice was over. He opened his mouth to tell McCoy they would leave right now, before McCoy lost it, but the harsh sound of a powerful slap interrupted him.

Jim saw red.

He was no little boy anymore who couldn’t defend himself or his mother. He was a grown man now and he would not tolerate Frank laying hands on his mother ever again. And he had just the right man at his side to make it bloody. They were on their feet before Winona’s cry of pain had died.

Just as they reached the bottom of the stairs, they heard a car starting in the yard, driving off at unreasonable speed. They found Winona in the kitchen, holding a pack of frozen carrots to her reddened cheek.

“If you wanna catch him, we need to leave right now.” McCoy whispered in Jim’s ear, holding him back from entering the kitchen and letting Winona see them. Jim nodded and turned around, as painful as it was to leave his mother alone like that.

The dirt road leading away from the house stretched on and on in two directions, but there were fresh marks on the frozen ground that made it easy to follow Frank’s antique, non-hovering car. They caught up with him quickly enough.

“Just to make sure, Jim: You actually do want him dead, right?” McCoy ascertained, his voice cool and precise like he was talking about the weather report. The cold dread that had Jim’s heart in a fierce lock clenched harder, but Jim’s resolve was unwavering. He was absolutely certain that he wanted to kill Frank.

“Yes.”

“Do you want to make him suffer or just take him out of the equation and make it look like an accident?” McCoy went on conversationally, if a tiny bit giddy. Jim breathed a long sigh and shook his head.

“I just want him gone, Bones. Forever.”

“Whatever you wish, Jim.” McCoy promised and Jim found himself liking the idea.

It was over sooner than Jim would have imagined. Frank loved antique cars and Jim was ever so pleased that this was ultimately his demise. Of course, Frank’s car had shields protecting it from the impact when McCoy rammed the side of their car into Frank’s, but that only meant that they didn’t leave a scratch on the paintjob that would hint towards an external force throwing Frank’s car off course in the investigation that was prone to follow the “accident”. The real trouble with Frank’s car was that even though it ran a program to stabilize the wheels when they started swerving on the sandy ground, the old car really was just too light, too unstable on the little wheels, too easy to push sidelong into a fence. It just took McCoy a single nudge at the right moment. Before the stabilizing program could even kick in, Frank’s car had crashed into a fence post.

They watched as the car flipped over again and again and pulled their car up to Frank’s side once the vehicle lay still. Frank was still alive in the upturned car, groaning painfully as they approached, but not for long. With a look of immense satisfaction, McCoy smiled his crazy smile at Frank and smashed his head into the steering wheel three times. Jim didn’t need to be a doctor to identify the bloody crack in Frank’s skull as fatal.

Jim’s conscience failed to pipe up at that and never managed to bother him overly much from then on.

 

\---***---

 

Sitting up with Winona after sneaking back into the house took most of the night. McCoy had given her a hypo against the stress and pain, then made coffee for three before backing off and giving Jim, Winona and Sam their privacy. They hadn’t talked much, simply kept each other company while they wallowed in their own bad memories of Frank. Winona had kept assuring Sam and Jim that she would put Frank into his place when he came home, but she’d really fooled no one. Sam had glanced Jim’s way a few times like he suspected what Jim had done, but wouldn’t mention it. Mostly, Jim had sipped his coffee and sorted out his conscience.

When he finally crawled into McCoy’s bed, it was close to sunrise. The night had been long and painfully honest for Jim, revealing his worst demons and shining a light on the darkest corners of Jim’s mind that no one, not even Jim, had ever seen before. It had uncovered the simple truth that Jim could, in fact, kill a person and not feel guilty about it. No matter the circumstances and whether it had been right or wrong, the core fact remained that he was capable of murder.

Somehow, that knowledge made him feel calmer than he had ever felt before. At ease with his instincts. It proved that he was indeed the perfect match for McCoy.

McCoy, who was sitting in their bed, reading something on a PADD and waiting for Jim, looked up when he walked in, eyes both dark and showing too much white. He smiled that creepy smile with more teeth than he ever showed in public and beckoned Jim to join him. He had no doubt that McCoy was still psyched from the kill. For a brief instant, Jim considered turning around, running from all this and sleeping on the sofa, but the moment passed as quickly as it had come and Jim’s legs moved even before he had given them the order.

“You look like crap, Jim.” McCoy pointed out amusedly, pulling the covers back so Jim could slide in next to him. “Let me take care of you.” Jim sighed when McCoy’s hands landed on his back and rubbed gently at the stiff muscles there. Slowly, progressively, they wandered lower.

His skin tingled under McCoy’s fingertips, like every nerve ending he touched was slowly waking up from a deep sleep. Surprised, Jim realized that his whole body felt numb, except for the parts McCoy had touched. He could have sworn he was aware of every tiny atom McCoy’s fingers had brushed over, his mind fully absorbed in the sensation. It was nearly unbearable, the contrast between numbness and tingling all over. He gasped at the sudden, overwhelming sensation of McCoy’s hot lips against his throat and the teeth that followed. Then the wandering hands pulled Jim’s pants down and palmed his ass with clear intentions.

“No violence under this roof, Bones.” Jim reminded him quickly, right before the very tip of McCoy’s finger breached his hole, just a promise of what would follow.

“You’re no fun, Jim. I like our little routine.” McCoy purred, not at all put off by the restriction.

“Yeah, well, get a grip. We can have a proper celebration in the car later.” That seemed to catch McCoy’s interest well enough and he stated his approval with his mouth on Jim’s cock.

Jim loved the way McCoy fucked him, with single-minded focus and steady touches. Most of the time, McCoy didn’t tease or fool around, but he had means to prolong their trysts that felt like natural progression instead of manufactured interludes. Sex between them was usually wild and explosive, but it was rarely quick. They enjoyed wrecking each other far too much to rush things.

Which also meant that orgasms usually left them shaking, moaning loud enough for their neighbors to hear; sometimes actually screaming. In the wake of Frank’s last act of domestic abuse, though, they kept it quiet. If it hadn’t been for the slaps of skin on skin and the creaking of the old bed, Jim would have imagined someone had muted the whole world as he watched McCoy pant and his lips form silent words that never made it past his throat. It was such a foreign sight and an unexpected turn-on, to watch McCoy silently succumb to pleasure of his own making, that Jim didn’t even notice his own orgasm sneaking up on him until it hit him full force. Only his hand hastily shoved between his teeth kept him quiet.

They left later that day after the police had come and delivered the news, interviewed them all and checked all the cars for evidence. McCoy wasn’t worried, so Jim allowed himself the same luxury and let his partner handle the aftermath expertly.

Only when they were far, far away from Riverside did McCoy pull over on the side of the road, drag Jim into the backseat and ravish him. In the wake of a kill, McCoy was generally sadistic. But he would hold it all in with iron self-control until the moment Jim gazed deep into his eyes and told him to let go. He would shudder with the complete trust Jim placed in him, eyes shining with deeply felt gratitude and love, before he lowered his walls and got creative with Jim.

He would come up with new ways to hurt Jim every time, digging out old tricks as well, but he could never refrain from wrapping his hands around Jim’s throat and choking him more or less lightly. Jim let him do it, knowing that McCoy needed to get the excess violence out of his system before he could turn it on someone else in a far less controlled manner than his usual murders. In this mind-frame, McCoy was a ticking time-bomb and it was Jim’s responsibility to reset him.

And if he happened to enjoy the abuse, that was no one’s business but his and McCoy’s.

A rust-colored shine on a knife’s blade, red smears all over the vinyl seats and blood dripping into a puddle beneath Jim were a far more eloquent way to describe their relationship than words, Jim found. Even more so were McCoy’s marvelous hands steadily running a regenerator over all the bleeding wounds he had inflicted on Jim, healing the damage he had done afterwards. Leaving Jim hale and hearty and craving more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for being late! This week has been just crazy.
> 
> Thank you all for sticking with my and this story and even more thanks for all who commented and gave me kudos; you guys are the sun and the earth and the moon revolving around us!


	5. I’d Do Anything to make You Stay

No light, no light in your bright blue eyes  
I never knew daylight could be so violent  
A revelation in the light of day  
You can't choose what stays and what fades away  
And I'd do anything to make you stay  
No light, no light, no light, tell me what you want me to say

 

\---***---

 

Jim knew very little about McCoy’s past, where he had been, what he had done. He could surmise a few things, knew some from facts and records. But he didn’t really know what McCoy had gone through, where he had come from. Jim had long since stopped thinking about what had made McCoy a sadistic, psychopathic murderer, dealing with it the way he dealt with every person being different: by accepting it. But McCoy didn’t readily share his life story. Granted, neither did Jim, but Jim was by far the more curious of the two.

One night, Jim asked about McCoy’s family when they were both drunk and in a melancholy mood.

“My sister died when I was about eight. I don’t quite remember what happened, but she drowned in the creek by our house. I think I may have killed her, possibly on purpose. I don’t know.

“My dad had cancer a few years ago. I loved him very much, so watching him die slowly and painfully was a very traumatic thing for me. I think it might have been the only time I have been conflicted about killing someone. I didn’t want him dead and I didn’t want to kill him and watching him suffer didn’t make me happy. I did end his life, though, when he asked me to.

“My mother died a few months later after she’d found out about me killing dad. I made it look like suicide, painted the walls of the kitchen with her blood. Slit her throat with the knife in her own hands. I can still see it in my mind; such a beautiful way to go.”

“And Jocelyn?”

“Please! Do you really think I would let her get away with divorce?”

Death followed Leonard McCoy wherever he went. He embraced it like a second lover and Jim wasn’t sure which love McCoy would chose if he had to, but he wasn’t inclined to find out. He wasn’t stupid enough to ask and not nearly naïve enough to think he could change McCoy. And maybe, just maybe, he didn’t want to, either.

Because if Jim was honest with himself, he liked his position. He liked having McCoy’s fate in his hands as much as he was putting his own life in McCoy’s. It might have been unhealthy, but it worked for them. McCoy liked pain and Jim was a natural in command, thrived on power and shaping life. They were made for each other.

 

\---***---

 

“Where’s Doctor McCoy?” Jim wondered as he passed Scotty in the corridor, his nose buried in a PADD that displayed all sorts of technical information that Jim mused could just as well be a Gaelic recipe for Scottish fish soup for all he understood of it. Scotty startled a little, obviously far away with his thoughts. He looked up to Jim with a frown.

“No idea, Captain. Last I’ve seen him, he was working in the lab.” Scotty replied with an apologetic shrug.

“He was supposed to meet me for dinner.” Jim said with a sigh. It was an hour after dinner time for beta shift and Jim had eaten in the company of the bridge crew, but missed his partner dearly. Scotty gave him a sympathetic smile.

“You know how he is, Captain. New microbes, new diseases… I heard last time they brought a batch of new, alien bacteria on board they had to sedate him after fifty-two hours on duty.” Scotty pointed out with a good-natured laugh and Jim had to crack a smile of his own at the memory. McCoy had been hissing like an alley cat dunked right up to the whiskers into a duck pond when the nurse had blindsided him with the hypo Jim had ordered, spitting curses left and right in the few seconds it had taken the sedative to knock the doctor out. Everyone had believed that McCoy had been frantically researching the bacteria to make sure it wouldn’t infect the crew, but Jim knew better.

“Well, I guess I’ll drag him away from his work now.” Jim announced with a wink, striding towards the labs with renewed energy. If McCoy really was still working on the newest sample of microbes from the last planet they had visited, that meant he had discovered that it was potentially dangerous, which in turn would give the doctor excellent ideas of how to exploit the stuff for his own purposes. Had McCoy been born a few centuries earlier, Jim was positive he would have made a marvelous bio-weapon specialist.

His search turned up a busy McCoy bent over a row of petri dishes inside a force field. He was so far in his zone that he didn’t even notice Jim standing right behind him as he observed whatever was happening under magnification. The deep scowl on his face told Jim that he was secretly pleased with his findings. Casting a quick look around, Jim confirmed that they were alone in the lab.

“Computer, halt audio surveillance.” Jim ordered, adding the Captain’s authorization code, and watched as McCoy startled slightly at his words.

“ _Audio surveillance feed halted_.” Came the cool confirmation from the central systems.

“Jim. What are you doing here?” McCoy asked, not bothering to turn around.

“You missed dinner.” Jim informed him, stepping closer to rest his hands on McCoy’s hips and look over his shoulder at the tiny microbes moving on the screen. “I assume you’ve made a good discovery.”

“ _Oh_ yes.” McCoy purred, his voice low and promising violence; it was synonymous to Jim with the promise of pleasure.

“Try not to kill my staff, okay?” Jim reminded him, already drafting an accident report in his head.

“What do you take me for, Captain? I know you care about your crew. I won’t kill them unnecessarily.” McCoy promised, nuzzling the side of Jim’s face. “I might hurt them a little, though.”

“A little?” Jim wondered skeptically.

“Perhaps more than a little. We’ll see.” McCoy amended, kissing Jim’s temple. “Not as much as I’ll hurt you tonight, if you want.”

“Whatever makes you happy.” Jim retorted neutrally, pretending the prospect didn’t thrill him as much as it did.

 

\---***---

 

“Do you know why you are the way you are?” Jim asked once, years into their relationship, as he stood watch at the mouth of a cave while McCoy learned all the merry ways he could hurt the new species they had found and make it look like an accident when he finally killed them.

“I have a few theories.” McCoy mumbled while loading a hypo with something Jim didn’t even want to know. It was one of the hypos McCoy carried hidden on his person. One of those was filled with cyanide, Jim knew, for the worst case scenario. It was enough for two people. “Do you know why you are the way you are? Why you keep doing this with me?”

“I have a few theories.” Jim echoed, glancing back to McCoy in time to see him jab the alien with the hypo. He turned back to keep a lookout when the alien’s agony started to fill his head.

“I love telepaths. So easy to torture and they can read exactly what I’m about to do to them in my mind.” Jim heard McCoy drawl behind him.

“And they can read mine, too.” Jim added.

“Precisely.”

 

\---***---

 

“One day, they will kill us, you know.” Jim murmured into the darkness of the captain’s chambers. McCoy hummed in acknowledgement where he lay with his cheek on Jim’s chest, the noise resonating in Jim’s lungs. “I don’t know whether I want them to or not.” To that, McCoy chuckled.

“No, you don’t.” He replied firmly, lifting his head to look Jim in the eye. “I get off on hurting people. You get off on power, Jim. You get off on the fact that I keep doing this and you keep allowing me to do it. You get off on hiding it from everyone. And you get off on the fact that you are the one keeping my secret. Having me by your side is a huge boost to your power, even more so since no-one knows about it. And you know I would viciously murder anyone who stood in your way.” He finished with a seductive grin. Only McCoy would think psychopathic talk would be sexy. And only Jim would find that it really was.

“You and I are wrong.” Jim pointed out, but somehow the words managed to sound more like a confirmation than a counter-argument.

“We are.” McCoy agreed with a hungry spark in his eyes.

“I also get off on making you happy, you know.” Jim added while McCoy crawled the rest of the way up his body.

“And on hurting me.” McCoy reminded him, nipping on Jim’s chin. “And being hurt by me.”

 

\---***---

 

“If they were chasing us and there was no way out, would you kill me so they wouldn’t get me?”

The night had started with that question and while Jim knew the answer McCoy would give, it had been McCoy who had asked. Without the usual certainty that he could maneuver both of them out of every tight spot, McCoy had looked at Jim like he held the world in his hands and Jim had realized that what he was really asking underneath it all was “Do you love me?”.

Loving McCoy was something Jim did with his whole being. Ever since he had been caught in McCoy’s orbit on that fateful shuttle ride, the man had been his center of gravity. Jim revolved around McCoy shining in his light as much as he was eclipsed by him. Leonard McCoy was his whole world. He would die for him, he would kill for him and if it came to that, he would kill _him_.

Now there were promises whispered between them, things they never said, words spoken against skin and sweat. All night they went like this, going from wild kisses to rough sex, from soft whispers to desperate screams, back to chaste touches and tight hugs, before giving into passion again. White smears marked their love on their skin, scratches and bite-marks their dedication. Swollen lips panting for breath said more than a thousand words. The silence of shared looks spoke loudest between them.

When they went down – when, never if – they would go down together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick note: My beta reminded me that Joanna doesn't exist in this world. Why? Because I don't like kids, so I keep forgetting about her. If you want, you can imagine McCoy killing her in any way you fancy, but for me she was just never born.
> 
> So this is it. You've finished this weird little thing, congratulations. I really hope I didn't disappoint you with this final chapter, which really was mostly a wrap-up. Thank you all for sticking with me till the end, you guys are fabulous!
> 
> Also, I might be willing to write a collection of various scenes I didn't put in here. There are a few things I imagine my dear killer-couple doing in this universe and if you're interested and I can find the time, I might write them. Let me know if any of you would like that.
> 
> A big thank-you to my beta reader again! I couldn't have done this without you, Lucy, and you've made some parts so much better with your suggestions! Thanks also to Hinawari for suggesting a few scenes!


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